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  • Writer's pictureJeff Bacon

The eyes have it.

I so screwed myself. I had a habit of screwing myself over my whole life, but this time may be my last. A beautiful woman snuggled up to me in the bar. It only took minutes before I was tripping all over myself to impress her. I bought her drinks, as I hoped to get her drunk enough to sleep with me. When she grabbed my hand and led me out of the bar, it seemed like a dream come true.

She hailed a cab, and we jumped in. She rubbed my leg and smiled. I couldn’t say a word. I sat there and stared at her beautiful smile. We arrived at her house next to the cemetery. My mind fired a few warnings, but I was not in control of my body. I followed her into the house and down to the basement. I laid on a cold steel table as she strapped me down.

My mind was racing, but my body wouldn’t move. She opened up a small vial and poured the contents around the edge of my face. She followed up with a scalpel. She made an incision around my eyebrows and down around my nose. I couldn’t do a thing. She lifted the skin gently. I heard the tissue ripping from my skull. I was looking at the room from a different view. She had pulled the skin and my eyes off my face. She showed me my body before she threw my eyes into a cauldron.

She scooped me out with a slotted spoon and dried me off. She held my eyes so I could see where we were going. She threw back a drape to reveal a wall covered in melted skin patches and eyes. She gently turned me around and placed me on the wall. My skin melted into the others as my eyes adhered themselves to the wall. I was now a part of her collection of knowledge and souls. She was my last mistake.

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